The Duchess Of Windsor (75 page)
Read The Duchess Of Windsor Online
Authors: Greg King
That morning, alone in her suite at Buckingham Palace, Wallis dressed in the simple black dress, black coat, and plain black pillbox hat with a waist-length veil which Hubert de Givenchy had created for her in Paris. She wore a pair of pearl-studded earrings which David had liked. A few minutes after ten, Wallis climbed into the waiting Rolls Royce in the palace quadrangle and began the forty-minute drive to Windsor Castle; it was the last time she would ever set foot in Buckingham Palace.
It was a fine, warm, clear summer day; as the Rolls-Royce bearing the Duchess of Windsor drove up the hill and through the Frogmore Gate of Windsor Castle, the bell in the Curfew Tower, overlooking Eton, the Thames, and the Berkshire countryside beyond, tolled once each minute, its mournful sound breaking the reverential hush of the gathered crowd. The Duke’s coffin had been taken to the Albert Memorial Chapel for the formal procession into St. George’s Chapel. Wallis stepped from her car and discreetly slipped through a side entrance to join the other members of the Royal Family. She found that the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, the Queen Mother, the Prince of Wales, and Princess Anne had not yet arrived from their private apartments in the upper ward of the Castle. Another notable absentee, and one who was not waiting to make his appearance, was the Earl of Harewood, eldest son of David’s sister Mary, the Princess Royal. He had not been invited, although his younger brother Gerald Lascelles was present. At first, Harewood thought there must have been a mistake and rang the Lord Chamberlain; only then was he bluntly told that he would not be welcome. His absence was duly noted in the British newspapers. “The charitable theory of oversight,” wrote the Sunday Times a week later, “is unconvincing since the Earl’s younger brother, Gerald Lascelles, was invited and attended.... That, as a divorced person, he should be barred from the funeral of an uncle who married at such deliberate cost a divorced person, is a ludicrous persistence of Abdication attitudes, bordering on the unbelievable. Yet no other official explanation was offered.”
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Just before eleven, the Queen, her husband, mother, and two eldest children arrived from the upper ward. Wallis, despite her grief, was struck by the appearance of her archenemy the Queen Mother. She later told the Countess of Romanones: “How she was dressed! What would I look like in that dress and hat? I really must copy that outfit. It looked as if she had just opened some old trunk and pulled out a few rags and draped them on herself. And that eternal bag hanging on her arm.... She wore a black hat with the brim rolled up, just plopped on her head, and a white plastic arrow sticking up through it. I thought how David would have laughed.”
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With the Queen and the Queen Mother, Wallis led the women of the Royal Family, walking from the Albert Memorial Chapel and into St. George’s Chapel. As she entered the nave, a sea of unknown faces turned to stare at her, watching as she purposefully made her way through the congregation to the choir, where the Queen directed her to a seat in the carved stalls; sunlight blazed through the enormous stained-glass window above the altar, mingling with the soft glow from the choir lamps and the flickering flames of the tall candles. Ahead of her, standing in the center of the nave, was a catafalque draped in deep blue cloth, waiting to receive her husband’s coffin.
The sudden quiet of the curfew bell signaled the start of the funeral. The constable of Windsor Castle led the procession of the Military Knights of Windsor, a collection of uncertain-looking elderly men holding their plumed caps beneath their arms. The somber, almost hushed tones of the choir’s anthem “I Am the Resurrection and the Life,” sung at all royal funerals, filled the chapel as the white-robed men and boys moved slowly down the aisle, followed by the clergy: the Dean of Windsor, the Very Reverend Launcelot Fleming, preceded Dr. Michael Ramsey, the Archbishop of Canterbury, attired in a tall white miter and black-and-gold cope. The soaring melodies of the choir drowned out the click-clack of their footsteps as eight scarlet-coated members of the Prince of Wales’s Company, First Battalion, Welsh Guards, bore the Duke’s coffin down the nave and into the choir. The Duke of Edinburgh, David’s cousin King Olav of Norway, Lord Mountbatten, and the Prince of Wales led the male members of the Royal Family as they followed the coffin through the chapel to the catafalque on which it was carefully placed.
“I could not believe what was happening,” Wallis later recalled sadly. “I had held him in my arms as he died, but I could not really believe that I would never see him again. Then I saw the flowers, white callas, which I had ordered, on top of his bier, which was covered with his flag, and I wanted to weep. But I said to myself that I was going to be as brave and as tough as those English. I wasn’t going to let them show me up in any way. They had been so cruel to my husband for so many years, to that wonderful, kind, good, patriotic man, and I maintained the same expression that they all bore, they who didn’t care.”
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Despite her best efforts, however, Wallis was often overwhelmed during the service, appearing confused and lost; several times, the Queen had to help her find her place in the order of service. At the end, after the hymns, proclamations, and prayers, four state trumpeters of the Household Cavalry sounded last post and reveille, echoing off the Gothic arches and fan vaults of the ceiling above. Within an hour, it had all come to an end.
Wallis exited to brilliant sunshine. At some point, the Queen began to walk ahead of the Duchess, assuming the role of chief mourner, and Wallis reached out for her, bending forward to ask some question. Behind her came the Queen Mother, who took Wallis’s arm and began to point out the floral tributes which lay banked around the walls of the chapel. They climbed into waiting limousines which quickly sped them through the lower ward and on to the upper ward and the private apartments of the castle.
Invited guests—friends and family members—also began arriving in the upper ward after the service; Elizabeth II had disappeared into the private drawing room. Lord Mountbatten found her peeking through the door toward the Green Drawing Room, where the rest of the guests were assembling. In answer to his puzzled expression, she explained that she was trying to avoid everyone until the last minute. Soon Wallis appeared, and the Queen took her to the Green Drawing Room for the after-funeral reception. She did not remain with her widowed aunt, however; instead, she asked Lord Mountbatten to look after Wallis, and he immediately led her to a sofa, where they could rest.
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At one point, the Queen Mother came over and sat down on the sofa beside Wallis. “I know how you feel,” she said. “I’ve been through it myself.”
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At one point, the Queen Mother came over and sat down on the sofa beside Wallis. “I know how you feel,” she said. “I’ve been through it myself.”
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The Queen had arranged for a luncheon to which forty guests had been invited. Wallis recognized only a few faces and felt distinctly uncomfortable. “I sat next to the Duke of Edinburgh,” Wallis told the Countess of Romanones, “who I had always imagined would be better, kinder, perhaps more human than the others, but you know, Aline, he is just a four-flusher. Not he, or anyone else, offered me any solicitude or sympathy whatsoever.”
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During the luncheon, seated between Prince Philip and Lord Mountbatten, Wallis was bombarded with questions: What did she intend to do with David’s papers? With his royal souvenirs? Did she think she might return to America now to live? This was all too much for her. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I shan’t be coming back here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
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During the luncheon, seated between Prince Philip and Lord Mountbatten, Wallis was bombarded with questions: What did she intend to do with David’s papers? With his royal souvenirs? Did she think she might return to America now to live? This was all too much for her. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I shan’t be coming back here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
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The Duke’s burial at Frogmore, sheltered among the trees below the castle, took place immediately after the luncheon. David was interred near the corner of the royal burial ground, next to a long, low hedge which separated the royal burial ground from the gravel paths leading to Queen Victoria’s mausoleum and, farther along, Frogmore House, where he had spent his childhood summers. The spot was tranquil but seemed much too small to accommodate both Wallis and David. Seeing the size of the plot, Wallis turned to the Archbishop of Canterbury and said, “I realize that I’m a very thin, small woman, but I do not think that even I could fit into that miserable little narrow piece of ground.” The Archbishop, somewhat startled by this piece of conversation, replied rather brusquely, “I don’t see that there’s much that can be done about it. You’ll fit, all right.” But Wallis was adamant that the hedge should be moved to provide more room. “After all, I’m not a hedge-hog, you know,” she said. This unexpected burst of her famous quick wit left the Archbishop speechless; finally, Ramsey promised that he would see to it that the hedge was moved back. In the end, Wallis’s concerns proved correct, and the hedge indeed had to be moved before her own grave could be dug.
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As soon as her husband was buried, Wallis declared that she wished to return to Paris. “Throughout her four days in Britain,” writes Michael Thornton, “Wallis had imposed herself on the Royal Family to the smallest extent possible. She had politely declined to attend the trooping-the-color ceremony. She had opted out of the family weekend at Windsor, and she was now relieving them of her presence at the earliest opportunity. She had shown throughout a dignified reticence of which they had never thought her capable.”
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No member of the Royal Family accompanied her to the airport; instead, the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, the Honorable Mary Morrison, and Lord Maclean, the Lord Chamberlain, traveled with her the few miles from Windsor to Heathrow. Lord Mountbatten, hearing that Wallis was to leave at once, had wished to stay with her but decided against trying to do so for fear of upsetting the Queen. “In retrospect,” he wrote in his diary, “I think it was a mistake as quite a number of the papers commented that no member of the family had gone to see her off at the airport.”
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The scene was poignant in its simplicity: Wallis, still clad in Givenchy’s mourning coat, hat, and veil, walked resolutely across the tarmac and slowly climbed the steps of the airplane. She never once faltered or paused to turn and look back. Within minutes, the plane from the Queen’s flight was in the air. Just after six that evening, the wheels of her car crunched along the gravel drive of her house in the Bois de Boulogne, and Wallis, alone now, entered the empty Villa, silent but for the incessant, lonely whine of Black Diamond, David’s favorite pug.
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The scene was poignant in its simplicity: Wallis, still clad in Givenchy’s mourning coat, hat, and veil, walked resolutely across the tarmac and slowly climbed the steps of the airplane. She never once faltered or paused to turn and look back. Within minutes, the plane from the Queen’s flight was in the air. Just after six that evening, the wheels of her car crunched along the gravel drive of her house in the Bois de Boulogne, and Wallis, alone now, entered the empty Villa, silent but for the incessant, lonely whine of Black Diamond, David’s favorite pug.
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Wallis Alone
A
T THE AGE OF
76, Wallis was alone. Life in her magnificent villa in the Bois de Boulogne became an ordeal. Reminders of her life with David stared at her from every room: paintings of him on the walls, his favorite chair, his pipes, the last book he had been reading, and everywhere, photographs of them together. For thirty-six years, she had devoted herself to the Duke; if at times his attentions had seemed fawning and she had attempted, in subtle ways, to break free, Wallis had always enjoyed and relished her central role. In turn, she took care of her husband: planned parties and meals to make him happy, receptions to keep him entertained, built her days around her time with him. Now that he was gone, the enormity of the void was immense. “I think,” recalls the Countess of Romanones, “that the Duke was more in love with the Duchess than the Duchess with him, but by the time he was dying, she had begun to realize how much in love with him she was. He meant more to her than anyone.”
1
T THE AGE OF
76, Wallis was alone. Life in her magnificent villa in the Bois de Boulogne became an ordeal. Reminders of her life with David stared at her from every room: paintings of him on the walls, his favorite chair, his pipes, the last book he had been reading, and everywhere, photographs of them together. For thirty-six years, she had devoted herself to the Duke; if at times his attentions had seemed fawning and she had attempted, in subtle ways, to break free, Wallis had always enjoyed and relished her central role. In turn, she took care of her husband: planned parties and meals to make him happy, receptions to keep him entertained, built her days around her time with him. Now that he was gone, the enormity of the void was immense. “I think,” recalls the Countess of Romanones, “that the Duke was more in love with the Duchess than the Duchess with him, but by the time he was dying, she had begun to realize how much in love with him she was. He meant more to her than anyone.”
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Whether consciously or not, Wallis mirrored the Duke’s great-grandmother Queen Victoria, who mourned her beloved husband Prince Albert until the day she joined him in their mausoleum. Everything in the Windsor villa remained exactly as it had been on the last day of the Duke’s life. His bottles of cologne and shaving lotion, tube of toothpaste, and other toilet articles were perched along the top of his sink and in his medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and his clothes hung in his closets. Each night, before she herself went to bed, Wallis slipped into his dark, shuttered bedroom and whispered, “Goodnight, David.”
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She had her servants, her friends, but no one else. Relations with her own, scattered family back in America had long since evaporated through infrequent contact and simple distance. “I wish I knew them, I wish there was someone who cared for me,” she told the Countess of Romanones. “But too much time has passed, it’s been too long.”
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In the first few months after the Duke’s death, Wallis had to force herself to deal with the Duke’s financial legacy. She was doubly lucky where the French government was concerned: Wallis was not asked to pay death duties, which at the time would have taken upwards of two-thirds of the estate; and she was reassured that she could remain in the villa in the Bois de Boulogne for the remainder of her life for the token rent she and the Duke had paid.
Another welcome, if rather sad, financial development came a year after the Duke’s death when the Mill was finally sold for nearly a million dollars. Although Wallis had loved the rambling old Country estate, it had always been the Duke’s retreat more than hers; now that he was gone, she had no desire to return to the poignant memories which pervaded every building and corner of her husband’s garden.
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Before she agreed to the final sale, however, Wallis imposed one term: the graves of their dogs, buried on the hillside above the stream, had to be preserved.
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Before she agreed to the final sale, however, Wallis imposed one term: the graves of their dogs, buried on the hillside above the stream, had to be preserved.
“It would never have occurred to the Duke to have done anything about his possessions,” says David Metcalfe, son of Edward’s great friend Fruity Metcalfe.
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Indeed, Wallis now faced the formidable prospect of determining what should become of the Duke’s papers, his possessions, his souvenirs, and one day, the contents of the villa in Paris. A few personal gifts were made to those whom the Duke had known well; but for the most part Wallis put off making any permanent decisions. She had never had any understanding of finances; even as a girl, mathematics had been the one subject in school which had eluded her grasp. The Duke had always told her that they were not terribly wealthy; her surprise at discovering the extent of his estate was tempered by her fear that a careless move or sudden financial crisis might wipe her out entirely. These financial uncertainties were to increasingly trouble her existence and eventually make Wallis susceptible to the ominous warnings of those around her.
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Indeed, Wallis now faced the formidable prospect of determining what should become of the Duke’s papers, his possessions, his souvenirs, and one day, the contents of the villa in Paris. A few personal gifts were made to those whom the Duke had known well; but for the most part Wallis put off making any permanent decisions. She had never had any understanding of finances; even as a girl, mathematics had been the one subject in school which had eluded her grasp. The Duke had always told her that they were not terribly wealthy; her surprise at discovering the extent of his estate was tempered by her fear that a careless move or sudden financial crisis might wipe her out entirely. These financial uncertainties were to increasingly trouble her existence and eventually make Wallis susceptible to the ominous warnings of those around her.
For a few months, at least, Wallis experienced a bit of a thaw in her relations with the Royal Family. After the Duke’s death, the Prince of Wales wrote her a warm letter praising the great-uncle he had never known. “It can’t have been much more than a simple courtesy on his part,” says one friend of the Duchess, “because, during the Duke’s life, he had not bothered to see him for any more than an hour or two, but to Wallis, it meant so much. It was the first significant crack in the wall of ice which had separated her from his family.”
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In return, Wallis tastefully but subtly reminded the Royal Family that although the Duke had died, she remained very much alive. In August 1972 her nephew Prince William of Gloucester, son of the Duke’s brother Harry and his wife, Alice, was killed in an airplane accident. Although she did not receive an invitation to the funeral, Wallis dispatched a large spray of white lilies, accompanied by a card with the simple inscription “With love from the Duchess of Windsor.”
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The British press had been rife with speculation over Wallis’s future at the time of the Duke’s death; for several months they continued to debate the abdication and the degree of punishment which David and Wallis had been made to endure. In September 1972,
Debrett‘s Peerage
and its editor, Patrick Montague-Smith, expressed doubt regarding the validity of the decision to withhold the style of Royal Highness from Wallis at the time of her marriage. Once again, their arguments rested on the idea that George VI had not been entitled to strip his brother of royal rank in the first place and that the letters patent of May 1937 were therefore illegal. “It is doubtful how knowledgeable the British and Commonwealth Ministers of the Crown were on constitutional and legal issues,” the journal declared; “whether they consulted eminent authorities for advice before the May statement was issued; or if they did so, whether they took the advice which was offered.”
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Debrett‘s Peerage
and its editor, Patrick Montague-Smith, expressed doubt regarding the validity of the decision to withhold the style of Royal Highness from Wallis at the time of her marriage. Once again, their arguments rested on the idea that George VI had not been entitled to strip his brother of royal rank in the first place and that the letters patent of May 1937 were therefore illegal. “It is doubtful how knowledgeable the British and Commonwealth Ministers of the Crown were on constitutional and legal issues,” the journal declared; “whether they consulted eminent authorities for advice before the May statement was issued; or if they did so, whether they took the advice which was offered.”
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There was temporary hope, at least on Wallis’s part, that attitudes were changing. In addition to the letter sent by the Prince of Wales, there were now frequent visits by Lord Mountbatten. On July 11, 1973, Elizabeth II dispatched a plane from the Queen’s flight to collect the Duchess and bring her back to England. Mountbatten and the Duke of Kent met her at the airport and escorted her to Frogmore so that she could visit her husband’s grave. By this time, the Portland stone slab had been put in place, and Wallis placed flowers next to it before joining the Queen for tea at Windsor Castle. That afternoon, she returned to Paris. The press was never informed of this meeting, the last time the Duchess would ever visit England.
But relations with the Royal Family soon turned formal. There were subtle incidents, small in themselves, which amounted, as Wallis told a friend, to little more than deliberate humiliations. Before the Duke’s death, for example, the annual Christmas card from the Queen had always been signed—as were all cards from the Royal Family, “Fondest love, Lilibet.” Now, following the Duke’s death, they came with the very formal inscription “Elizabeth R”—the same signature reserved for officials.
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On May 29, Buckingham Palace had announced the engagement of Princess Anne to Lt. Mark Phillips. Wallis happened to be on holiday at Cap Ferrat in the South of France when a reporter broke the news to her. “Oh, how wonderful!” Wallis declared. “I have been reading all the rumours in the papers, but you cannot believe everything you read. This is wonderful. I have never met the young man, but of course I know Princess Anne very well.” She wished the couple “all the happiness in the world.”
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But Wallis was not invited to attend Anne’s wedding that November in Westminster Abbey.
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But Wallis was not invited to attend Anne’s wedding that November in Westminster Abbey.
Alone among the Royal Family, Lord Mountbatten continued to make friendly overtures and pay the Duchess regular visits. Wallis, however, found little comfort in these visits, which she described to the Countess of Romanones: “It was awful,” she declared after one visit. “He wanted me to make out a will right there and then, giving everything to David’s family, and, of course, some to himself. He had it all worked out, just where everything should go. Well, I did my best to stick up for my rights. After all, I do want to be fair, and what should go to the Royal Family will go. But they did David out of properties which were his own.”
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Linda Mortimer happened to visit Wallis shortly after one of Mountbatten’s appearances. She found the Duchess “very angry. She said she had been thinking of leaving most of her things to Prince Charles, and some younger members of the Royal Family.” Mountbatten, however, had swept through the villa, “picking up boxes and swords and trinkets,” saying, “This belongs to the Royal Collection.” Wallis was so irritated by this behavior that she told Linda she had changed her mind about leaving anything to the Royal Family. “Oh, please don’t do that,” Linda exclaimed. “That’s just the way Mountbatten is. He’s never been known for his tact.” But Wallis was adamant.
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Mountbatten himself found Wallis often confused and agitated—symptoms, no doubt, not only of her increasing ill health but of her anxiety over his visits. On February 8, 1973, he noted: “She came to me quite radiant and obviously pleased to see me and said, ‘Have you seen David yet?’ This shook me. However I said, ‘How nice that you feel he is so close. I share your feelings that he is very close to us now. Isn’t it sad to think that he is now actually dead and gone?’ She sadly shook her head and said, ‘Yes, I suppose he has gone, but I feel he is always with me and I can keep close touch with him.‘”
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Mountbatten seemed most concerned with convincing Wallis to turn over the Duke’s papers, military insignia, and other royal mementos to the Royal Family. Some of these items were duly returned, and Mountbatten noted in his diary that he had thanked the Duchess for doing so.
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Mountbatten also suggested that the Duchess might set up a charitable foundation to administer the Duke’s estate and endow certain charities with gifts. Knowing that Wallis had taken a liking to the Prince of Wales, he even suggested that Prince Charles be the chairman.
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Mountbatten also suggested that the Duchess might set up a charitable foundation to administer the Duke’s estate and endow certain charities with gifts. Knowing that Wallis had taken a liking to the Prince of Wales, he even suggested that Prince Charles be the chairman.
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At first, Wallis seemed amenable to this idea, but whatever initial enthusiasm she felt for the project was tempered by both her growing realization that the Royal Family was not interested in her as much as they were her possessions and, perhaps more important, by the continued, overly effusive involvement of Mountbatten in the scheme. She had never really grown to trust him, and his behavior after the Duke’s death simply reaffirmed her deeply held suspicions that he was determined to wrest her money and belongings from her. In December 1974 she finally wrote to Mountbatten: “As to the depositions in my will, I confirm to you once more that everything has been taken care of according to David’s and my wishes, and I believe that everyone will be satisfied. There is therefore no need of your contacting my advisor in Switzerland. It is always a pleasure to see you, but I must tell you that when you leave me I am always terribly depressed by your reminding me of David’s death and my own, and I should be grateful if you would not mention this any more.”
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His frequent visits and overtures to Wallis about the Duke’s estate so disturbed her that eventually Dr. Jean Thin asked Mountbatten not to come to the villa any longer, as her blood pressure increased dramatically when he did so.
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His frequent visits and overtures to Wallis about the Duke’s estate so disturbed her that eventually Dr. Jean Thin asked Mountbatten not to come to the villa any longer, as her blood pressure increased dramatically when he did so.
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In the first months after the Duke’s death, Wallis led a quiet life. Gradually, she began to find her feet again, although the great void in her life caused by her husband’s death could never be filled. She found herself concerned with little things: After nearly forty years of her carefully coiffured hairstyle, Wallis returned to parting it in the middle and having it combed straight. “I’m putting my hair back to the Mrs. Simpson days,” she told Ralph G. Martin with a smile.
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There were small dinner parties for a few guests, and she occasionally went out to dine in restaurants in Paris. When the son and daughter-in-law of her friends the Count and Countess of Romanones visited, Wallis took them to Maxim’s, where, to their surprise, she proceeded to order a hamburger; even after so many years spent in Europe, her taste for things American had never completely disappeared.
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There were small dinner parties for a few guests, and she occasionally went out to dine in restaurants in Paris. When the son and daughter-in-law of her friends the Count and Countess of Romanones visited, Wallis took them to Maxim’s, where, to their surprise, she proceeded to order a hamburger; even after so many years spent in Europe, her taste for things American had never completely disappeared.
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Before the Duke’s death, the Windsors had maintained over thirty staff and servants. Now Wallis began the inevitable task of thinning out what seemed an excessive number of retainers for one woman. A few were let go simply because their positions with the Duke no longer existed; but Wallis tried to keep others who had worked for her husband, like his secretary, John Utter, and the faithful Sydney Johnson. Georges Sanegre and his wife, Ophelia, continued to supervise the running of the household, while Utter was assisted by Johanna Schutz, a young woman who acted as secretary to the Duchess.
Utter and Schutz made an odd pair, and Wallis had never been overly fond of either of them. She found Utter abusive of his position and suspected that he disliked her as much as she did him. “Utter was a two-faced, if not a multifaced, man,” recalls Janine Metz, who worked closely with him during her tenure in the Windsor household. “He rarely gave you a straight answer. Her Royal Highness was quite annoyed with him and his way of doing things. He often did things thinking she did not know, and did them behind her back. The Duchess disliked him, and asked that I convey instructions to him so that she would not have to, which made him even more mad. ‘Can’t she tell me that herself?’ he would ask me.”
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